


Imprisoned

by immortalbears



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hate Sex, Large Cock, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:05:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalbears/pseuds/immortalbears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before General Tullius shipped Ulfric Stormcloak off to Helgen, the two of them had an unexpected tryst. Ralof was almost in a position to witness it, were he not passed out on the ground from sheer exhaustion. Ulfric had to bear with the fear that his soldier might wake up anytime, to see himself in such a compromising position. </p><p>Now, General Tullius is held under high security locks in the prison...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imprisoned

Before General Tullius shipped Ulfric Stormcloak off to Helgen, the two of them had an unexpected tryst. Ralof was almost in a position to witness it, were he not passed out on the ground from sheer exhaustion. As it was, Ulfric had to bear with the fear that his soldier might wake up anytime, to see himself in such a compromising position. That, too, seemed to give General Tullius all the more pleasure.

Now, General Tullius was held under high security locks in the prison, and the only person who was given permission to visit him was Jarl-soon-to-be-High-King Ulfric and his second-in-command, Galmar Stone-fist. Galmar himself advocated killing Tullius, but Ulfric said that it would make a martyr of the man, which would lead to fiercer reprisals from the Empire. His goal was not to finish off the Empire; rather, it was merely to liberate Skyrim from its grasp. The fifty-something Imperial was already grey in the hair despite being fit and always in combat-ready physique. Even in such a state, the Imperial found himself walking back and forth in the cell, several paces at once, before turning back again, as if he was on a never-ending journey.

His sorjoun in prison was often interrupted with Ulfric's visits. He would have preferred not to talk about it, for he was familiar with the proceedings. Galmar Stone-fist, the Stormcloak hardliner, threatened him and tortured him to make him give up information on the whereabouts of the Thalmor patrols. Ulfric, on the other hand, would gaze at him somewhat sympathetically, lead him to a nicer room, and tell him that things need not be that way. In his deep, sultry voice, he would conjure images of General Tullius as a strategy master. He offered alternate scenes of a rolling hills and lazy countrysides in the Imperial heartlands that he could always retire to. This seemed highly unlikely to General Tullius, who only rose to his position by detaching himself from his family and keeping his whereabouts a secret from the rest of them. He hoped that his daughters did not know that their father was rotting away in a Skyrim cell.

Their tryst before Helgen Keep was only alluded to once, when General Tullius' eyes almost glazed over from the sheer exhaustion that Galmar put him under. Ulfric promised him that he could sleep if only he would renounce the Empire, sign the confessions, and reveal the plans of the Empire. He would have done almost anything to get to sleep then, but even so, he said, "Ulfric... Don't ask me to do the impossible. I'll do whatever you want. Just let me get some sleep."

"I see. I'd expected just as much of you, General Tullius." Those cold, grey eyes seemed to glimmer in the candlelight, but it was not before Tullius found himself being pinned down by Stormcloak. "I don't want to hurt you, General Tullius. Such a pity that a worthy foe like you should serve the likes of the Empire! What has it done, but forsaken you just as it has forsaken Talos?" 

He was tired. His body was tired. His soul was tired. He wanted it to be done, and over with, "If you wish to execute me, so be it. If you are an honourable Nord, you will leave my family alone. That is all I ask."

"You understand that we Nords think with our heart, General Tullius." Ulfric now said what his aide was always quick to remind him, back in the day. Of course, being an Imperial was different from being a Nord. They had different ideas of common sense, for starters. He had no idea what Stormcloak was thinking this time, as he continued, "No. I cannot kill you."

It was far worse to be kept alive as barely a husk. General Tullius did not have it in him to admit that he would rather die right then, but Ulfric seemed to have other plans for him regardless. 

"Some say that you did not give me a fair trial because I would have become a martyr. But so long as I died, I would have been a martyr. We want to be on good terms with the Empire, General Tullius. It would be greatly beneficial for both of us..." Stormcloak's voice was far too sympathetic. Tullius' weary heart skipped a bit, and he almost felt like agreeing. 

Instead, the grown man, who had seen just about everything in his life, felt tears welling up in his eyes, although they were so dry that he could not cry. Instead, he let out a wracking sob, the sound only a desperate man on the verge of despair could make. "I can't. You know that I can't, Ulfric."

"I knew that," Ulfric replied. The Imperial had finally called him by his first name, and that was something. He studied the old man, himself only a decade or so younger, wondering where the time had gone. That was not the proud Imperial that he had known. He said, "I'll show you to your room. Sleep well."

-

He expected to be awoken by Galmar Stone-fist this time, as was the case, perhaps with the crackling of fire before iron rods sizzled into his flesh. Instead, he saw that he was bandaged, and the crackling came from a nearby fireplace. 

"I had my men disinfect your wounds," Ulfric stated. The last light of the dusk peeked through the window, illuminating only his majestic silhouette.

"Where am I?" His voice sounded as wretched as he felt. 

Ulfric set a cup of tea by the night stand, "We brought you out here because of your failing health. The air here is good for you."

Tullius did not reach for the tea. Whatever Stormcloak wanted with him, he no longer knew. But it seemed to be in his interest to keep him alive. He looked out of the window, and saw a lake beyond the bars. He could be anywhere in Skyrim, and nobody knew except the top commanders in the Stormcloak army.

As if sensing what he was thinking of, Ulfric put a firm hand on his shoulder and said, "I won't run away, if I were you. The guards are ordered to kill on sight. You are alive and in Windhelm as far as everybody else is concerned."

"Conniving as ever," he managed to wheeze out, "Don't you have a Moot to attend?"

"Not just yet, no," Ulfric said simply. He took a sip from the teacup, pinned Tullius down onto the bed, and fed him tea from his mouth. Tullius coughed, as some of the liquid went down the wrong way. He then realized what Ulfric about to do, and he was already too tired to care. There was simply too much horror that he had seen. Nothing could surprise him anymore. He lay there without a struggle. "How long has it been since we've done this?"

He remembered when Ulfric was younger, when the Nord's youthful body seemed to hold so many promises. Instead, he now saw himself through the eyes of the middle-aged man, grown cold and stiff and completely subservient. He had no answer. His body was already responding; he hadn't had the time for diversions such as these. Not in Solitude, when the Thalmor was breathing down his neck and constantly looking over his shoulder. He had no excuses for giving in to his weakness before shipping Ulfric off to Helgen, though there was nothing but the regret of an unprofessional breach of conduct.

Sensing that the Imperial was not impartial to his touch, Ulfric leaned down and began to kiss him on the neck, deliberately ignoring the rest of him. The logical, sensible old man now began to grow more responsive. He could tell by how deep his breaths were getting, and how different his moans began to sound when he touched an erotic spot and when he touched a wound. The Imperial's body was a battlefield of passion, and Ulfric meant to conquer it as he had been once conquered. Their little dance would have been entirely meaningless otherwise, and being a Nord was, unlike an Imperial, about the gravity of meaning, feelings and symbols.

Tullius' lips moistened, and Ulfric passed him the cup of tea which he drank without a word, only to have it drip down onto the Nord's thick member. He shuddered at the thought of taking it into himself; it was so large that he could barely fit the tip into his mouth without scraping it with his teeth. Instead, he simply sucked on it in piecemeal, almost hungrily now that he realized that he hadn't eaten in quite a while. The tall, strong Nord tried to get him to fit more of it into his mouth, but it was not possible.

With the patience of a lion, Ulfric now made him hold still as he ran his fingers through smooth white hair. The Nord was almost enchanted with the beauty of a defeated man whose face was now splattered with his own cum. He wiped it off with his large, gentle hands, licked it off his fingertips, and fed it back to Tullius like a bird nursing her young. Tullius' chest now heaved up and down from the thick, musky smell and the exquisite manner with which he was being fed. The Nord's unnatural size made him quiver. While he was the one who rode the back of the Bear, now it was he who was going to be ridden.

You made that bed, you lie in it, Tullius told himself bitterly. He expected it to hurt. It was larger than anything he had ever taken for himself. And, judging from that size, he supposed that even if there were many who would be willing to bed Ulfric, they would ultimately run in the other direction as soon as this slapped them in the face.

Either way, the Nord seemed to only be interested in him at the moment, having gone through great pains to keep him alive and ensure his relevance to an otherwise fledgling attempt at self-government. Tullius did not think that foreign policy would help with Skyrim's self-determination. At least, not as much as Ulfric claimed that it would. Of course, to defeat the Thalmor, Skyrim would ultimately have to sign a pact with the Empire... It would have been in both of their best interests... He felt so hungry that his thoughts raced across his mind as disjointed fragments of a once-whole ego. Instead, he let out a soft whimper as the Nord pressed himself against him, trying to enter his resisting body.

"Loosen up," Ulfric said patiently. His cock was lubed from Tullius' spit, but it was now getting dry from the attempt.

"I am," Tullius wheezed in reply, betraying from his tone that he wanted badly to. He massaged his tender opening, feeling that it was already relaxed and pliant to his touch.

The blonde sighed. He reached around to play with Tullius' member, all the while stroking himself with oil. He smacked that old man's tight ass gently, laid him on his front, and began to enter again, this time far more slowly.

Tullius moaned in pain, and began to stroke himself from beneath.

"Does it hurt?" 

"Does it snow in Skyrim?!"

Ulfric withdrew again, much to Tullius' relief and chagrin.

They continued through the night, experimenting on ways to test the General's limits. Eventually, they succeeded, even though Tullius still felt raw and tender from the sheer size, and Ulfric could barely move because the Imperial was simply too tight even with the copious amounts of lubricant. Still, Ulfric held Tullius tightly as the latter moaned in pleasure and agony. Being filled to the brim like that was a sensation that he could never forget; his mind went completely blank as he stroked himself wantonly, all the while with the Nord breathing into his sensitive nape. The more he squeezed on the Nord, the more he felt as if he was closer to orgasm, yet it was still painful enough to remain impossible.

Ulfric eventually got off him as his eyes rolled back from the sheer sensation, nothing but a mindless, drooling mess with the taste of cum in his mouth. His ass felt raw, and lube dripped from his abused, stretched hole.

"Did it hurt?"

Tullius simply looked at Ulfric with the eyes of an aged man. He quivered slightly as he touched himself down there, to assess the damage. "I don't think anything's broken. Just minor abrasions, if anything."

The Nord nodded sympathetically. He got up, fetched the basin of water and soap, tossed Tullius a piece of cloth, and cleaned himself up. "I'll get the blacksmith to make you something suitable for the next time we meet," Ulfric said, as he rubbed himself down, "There's a library here. We'll go over the formalities over supper."

Tullius said nothing in response. He was still a prisoner, after all.

Both of them looked at each other's half-erect members, frustrated as ever, yet oddly satisfied.


End file.
